the weight of the days,
weeks, months, years,
and all i can see
is the tiresome monotony
sound, speak, repeat
click clack of the keyboard
strum of guitar
whir of the milk i steam
metal pitcher, pull the shot
biology, trigonometry, literature
then off to the real world
a piece of paper, i qualify
to live my life
work forty hours a week
just like before
but a desk,
papers, a phone number,
and pens with my name engraved...
i feel each of these days to come
and i don't want
any of them.
He was tired of the ordinary and he wanted something new.
He wanted to hear the sound of the moon.
He wanted to taste the tides.
The sound of the cacti growing in the desert was like music to his ears,
but he could not remember anymore exactly just what it sounded like.
He wanted to go back to when he did not have to remember
because he could hear it always,
but he could not go back.
Time had put him where he was
and he could not turn back time, but it was not just a matter of that.
He knew that somewhere he had lost his understanding of himself, and with it
his conception of the world
He did not properly understand
the instrument with which he experienced the world
so he was not appropriately situated to judge what he experienced.
Once he understands what he is
he sees his flaws
and learns to work with them so they are no longer flaws.
The rays of the sun fell in a multitude of rays through the trees,
the canopies acting as a colander; taking up most of the rays
but allowing some to slip through
where small trees and shrubs seemed to congregate.
One of the rays fell on the boy
and as it did he opened his eyes
and as he did he was no longer a boy.
I curse the night I meet you.
I curse the night my eyes locked deep into your golden/brown skin & crimson red lips.
I curse the drug that draped my mind in lust, in confidence, to merely utter
I curse that sentmental longing of the sound of your voice again.
And the subtle approach towards my deviant nature.
Don't piss off a writer.
Her thoughts will be validated upon paper,
her eyes will cry tears of ink that sink into the pages forming words never quite forgotten,
your past together will be an anthem to young girls who suffer in the same,
when she spits out her blood soaked poetry the guilt will drive you insane.
Don't. Piss off a poet
Because at three thirty in the morning she will write an angry piece about how perfect your eyes looked when the rain splattered your windshield, how your kind words melted the barricade, and when you were safely inside you lit a match, just to see how many things would catch
Dont break a poets heart,
it will not break her pen and when she sends the message across the web of how you hurt her,
the sound will resonate across the night clubs and everyone will know you shattered her like good china, smashed underfoot by a mad man, tension she couldn't bare, and drunk text messages unsent about how much she cares.
We, were an unfinished painting the artist got bored with, A Mona Lisa on an etch sketch,
you curled yourself around me and tucked yourself underneath my tongue,
you said when I smiled your limbs came undone, and you fell in love with me every time I sung to you,
well maybe I should have sung louder, because my message is now falling on deaf ears,
I want to hear the words, I need you, I want to see you, I miss you.
Instead I'm glued to my screen trying not to send you hate mail so obscene,
I never meant to get this attached to you, and maybe that's why you're running away.
If I asked you to stay would you bother? Or just run faster?
I promised myself I wouldn't write a poem about you, because if I did that I would have to open my mouth,
and I'm scared now that you've jumped out, and have found safety in another girls arms, how did I not realize this would cause me harm, I never wanted to fall for you.
Don't make empty promises, to poets.
We will never forget, because we produce the highest form of lies known to man, I can make words in languages you'll never understand, but with a flick of my hand and the right stance I could make you fall in love with me after the second glance. So don't try to lie to a writer, buddy I've been there. You think hearing "I hate you." hurts wait until you wake up to.
"Your eyes make mine want to bleed, your voice crackles up my spine, and shake me to the core. Every time you look at me I think of how many different ways I could feed your organs to starving children in Africa. Your pancreas I'd send to Guam, your heart to Ethiopia. Lead you into the depths of hell and keep you locked up. In case I wanted to play with you later, no. I'm not bitter, what makes you say that."
Or better yet, imagine waking up to silence. I cannot speak for my words are numb to the bubble of hatred in my centre. If I let it escape I will never stop screaming, I've been meaning to tell you that I could never regret anything we've done together.
Everything is put into a sharper perspective at night,
Have you ever noticed the deafening loudness of the eery silence?
You start to comprehend a few things, but not quite,
You want to rebel, create a sort of defiance.
Just in time the others come out, they want to dance.
They ask you to join & promise to make you feel very alive.
You start to move, they watch you prance,
Their stares are a bit unsettling but, you abide.
You can hear your heart beat, or lack thereof,
You can feel your lungs constricting from the smoke.
You're getting carried away.. where's the sheriff?
Where's the ambulance? You're starting to choke!
Your thoughts swirl, your sight is nonexistent,
Your body crashes, you can't hear a sound.
"Don't worry, you'll be okay!" Oh, what an optimistic,
You wish you were okay, you wish you'd be found.
The others have left, you're alone now,
There's nothing around you, nothing but stars.
You were expecting the time of your life, a big wow,
Silly you, thought you knew, nothing good ever happens in The Dark.
Today my son told me he wanted to be like me when he grows up
so i slapped him across the face,
I told him you better get your shit straight son,
you try to be like me you're gon' end up a bum.
No one could be like me not even you,
I told the same thing to your bitch ass brother,
and as for your mother she be askin' me for money all the time,
i know im a rich ass guy but that don't mean i'd waste a dime for her,
Your uncle lied about the way she died i fuckin stuffed her nappy ass in the
trunk of the mercedes and left her there for 10 days,
it was only supposed to be a week but then the next three i thought
she could ressurect just like Jesus did,
Turned out she didn't cause i didn't hear no banging but than again i never checked,
Don't be a wreck like your fuckin' uncle Johnny who tried defending her and
they both ended up in a train on their way to San Francisco,
That's right why you think no fuckin' cops came you see what im saying,
i'm teaching you how to be tough and rough like your dad,
Don't be a little sissie like your little brother Stan who joined the Klan
just so he would be a part of something,
Let me tell you something bout' your grandpa Ronnie he's always grumpy for nothing.
If you look at my eyes im a psycho son,
I think it's fun to wrap chains around people's necks and tie em' to the back
of the car,
i know sometimes i take it too far but that man at the gasoline station
thought he could take me down and make me look like a clown,
the sound of that just makes my nerves tingle and not a single person
has ever had the balls to tell me some stupid shit like that,
so grabbed him like rat and hit his legs with the bat till' they break,
you need to know both our life's are at steak every turn we take,
There's no hesitating and don't you ever run away,
always pay attention to the people who got something to say,
I tell people that I missed you that day,
when you were gon' i couldn't say goodbye,
But thats what happens when Daddy's fuckin working all the time,
All i could do is just sigh and know this is the end of the line,
I'm looking at you now but i can't see your face,
I guess it's pretty hard you'd have to have x-ray vision to see under a grave,
I shave now because i remember how you never liked how my beared looked on me,
Just thinking bout' your death makes me wanna scream,
and now i see myself in this fuckin' hospital now knowing why im here
or what i ever did wrong,
I'm writing you this song to tell you,
Never be like me cause sadly your daddy is never doing the right thing,
But take care say hi to god for me i hope this letter can get to heaven
so you can see it.
Be happy with your whole family up there cause their dead too with you,
i didn't want you to get lonely.
Now you feel at home and i'm just sitting here all alone.
It has it's own personal significance and some people may relate to it.
As I climb,
You push me down.
You're the reason why
I can't make a sound.
You have me gagged, you have me bound.
I lose my center as you spin me 'round.
Off balance, I fall and try to get back up.
You hold me there, asking if I've had enough.
When I say yes, you just say, "Yeah, so what?"
Then you keep on torturing me;
You don't give a fuck.
"you know me so well"
not as well as I want to
I want to know every line on your face
and every scar that lines your body
I want to know your deepest secrets
and your strongest fears
I want to know how you sound at 3am
and your rough edges
please let me in
As a little girl, my mother and father would drive around while smoking in the car, with the window rolled down, as I would roll up the ends of my sleeves clenching them towards my nose to be rid of the smell I have never liked.
I believed that when my parents would smoke around me, I was a smoker too. I had had the scent of a smoker too. But when I was with you, it was different.
That night, not caring how much I hated those sticks of paper as a child, I would watch you put it in your mouth and on your lips, inhaling it until you couldn't any further. I silently sat in the backseat admiring how you would slowly inhale and exhale the toxic fumes it gave off.
That night, I went home.
I walked in through my back door.
I slid my shoes off and tiptoed toward my bedroom.
I passed my parents' room, witnessing them sound asleep next to each other, peacefully.
I took off my old grey sweatshirt and inhaled slowly, the smell of your secondhand smoke, and smiled.
Because it was yours.
I hated those sticks of paper full of toxic fumes.
I hated the smell of those sticks of paper full of toxic fumes.
Now, myself, I am one of those sticks of paper full of toxic fumes.
We both have touched your pink, chapped lips, got used, and are now thrown away.
Sweetheart, come to bed.
the demons that you hoard are bending the curves of your spin;
I can see them pulling at every muscle tucked beneath your skin.
You pop and you crack and it vibrates against the walls.
I shutter at the sound
the sickening, awful sound.
Sometimes I wonder if you believe in the miracles
that fall between my pelvis,
or the heavy breath I breathe between parted lips.
Are my bones strong enough to save you?
Sweetheart, come to bed.
Your cautious footsteps are creeping back and forth,
up and down,
heavy footed across the ragged carpet.
I hear them every night aching so unholy,
from underneath my bed sheets.
You swear you're next to me asleep.
I hear them though you swear you've been asleep.
Most times I want to believe in the miracles,
I have promised you between night and day
and the soft lipstick stains I've left lingering lightly on every inch of skin
you've left so vulnerable to my kiss.
I wonder if its saving that you need.
Sweetheart, come to bed.